


The Badge

by Ellen Smithee (ellensmithee)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death Eaters, F/M, M/M, Necrophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-04
Updated: 2011-03-04
Packaged: 2017-10-16 02:30:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellensmithee/pseuds/Ellen%20Smithee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>True love never dies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Badge

" _Avada kedavra_."

A flash of green light, a sickening thud, and Draco turned around and promptly vomited in the corner. He remained bent over for a moment, catching his breath, a trembling hand pressed again his cold, sweaty forehead, until the smell threatened to overcome him. Wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his dress robes, he stumbled over to the bed and sat down, sticking his head down between his legs, his face in his hands. The house was quiet now. He could hear the crickets chirping through the open window and the trees rustling in the wind. Floorboards creaked and somewhere a mouse was squeaking.

Somewhat calmed, he looked up and caught sight of the booted feet of his victim sticking through the open doorway into the room. He averted his eyes, but it was too late. His hands started to tremble, and he lost hold of his wand, swearing as it fell on the floor and rolled under the bed.

Draco dropped to his hands and knees and reached under the bed, feeling around for his wand. He let out a soft cry of triumph when he felt it. He started to curl his fingers around it, but jerked his hand back when it closed around something sharp.

He swore and stuck his finger in his mouth. He looked under the bed, expecting to find an annoyed doxy or some other creature, but all he could see was his wand and something else that shone in the pale shaft of moonlight that had crept into the dark recess. Stretching his arm as far as it would go, he retrieved both objects and then pushed himself to his feet.

" _Lumos_."

The faint light conjured by his wand was no help against the dust obscuring the object's secrets. Draco blew on it with a forceful puff, revealing a Hogwarts prefect's badge. Gryffindor. Weasley's, he noted, still bearing the imprint of Draco's teeth from a memorable "encounter" in sixth year. Draco stared at it for a moment, lightly tracing the Gryffindor crest with his finger, before he closed his hand around it and tucked it in his pocket.

He glanced around for a moment, making sure he was leaving nothing behind. He tried not to look at the body as he stepped over it. He didn't need to look to know that it was one of Weasley's multitude of brothers, who had arrived home late to dinner, but not too late for Draco's "dessert."

He hurried through the house, avoiding the sight of the other bodies. Most of them were still at the dinner table or lying near it; Molly and one of the older boys were in the kitchen where they had been cleaning up after a celebratory dinner. The Weasel's bonding ceremony was in a week - or, rather, had been in a week.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he escaped into the garden. He quickly cast a series of spells and The Burrow exploded into flame. He watched it burn for a moment, numb and sick, but also calm and somehow... satisfied.

He made his way across the garden to where Weasley had fallen while racing to reach the edge of the anti-Apparation wards before Draco caught him. He could make out the dead man's fair skin in the moonlight, his large hands like white blobs against his dark robes. Draco's hand trembled as he moved it unconsciously to his throat to press against the bruises those hands had left there.

He knelt down on the grass beside Weasley, gazing into glassy eyes that stared back at him in mute accusation. Draco had made his death personal; the simple Killing curse that he'd used to finish off the rest of the Weasleys was too good for his Weasel. Draco had Petrified him, then thrust a kitchen knife into his heart. The knife emerging from the dead man's chest was now surrounded by a dark stain on his shirt, like a badge. Like a prefect's badge.

Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out the badge,. He released the pin from its clasp, cursing when it pricked his finger again, more deeply this time. He scowled, as he squeezed his finger, watching the blood well up from the pinprick. A single drop fell from his finger to the stain, mixing with Weasley's blood until Draco could no longer tell them apart.

Sticking his finger into his mouth, Draco sucked the blood from his finger. Then he leaned forward and pinned the badge to the front of the Weasel's open dress robes and sat back to admire his handiwork.

"Brave Gryffindor," Draco said, in a tone that was both mocking and regretful.

He ran his finger along the edge of the badge and then pushed Weasley's robes back over his shoulders and unbuttoned his shirt. Draco's hands roamed over the scupted, still-warm chest, memorizing the soft texture of his skin against the hard muscle and bone underneath. He leaned forward and flicked the flat nipple with his tongue - a nipple that would never again pebble under his loving ministrations.

His hands then moved to Weasley's face, stroking his cheekbones and jaw. He thought of closing the vacant eyes, but he looked almost alive again like this, and Draco wanted to feel like the Weasel could see him.

He pressed two fingers against Weasley's lips, which resisted at first, but then parted to grant Draco's fingers entry. The mouth was still warm and moist; he had only been dead for a few minutes, and the heat was leaving his body only gradually. Draco was once again struck by the illusion that Weasley was not dead, only somehow prevented from reacting to Draco's caresses. Draco felt himself start to grow hard.

He unfastened his trousers and released his stiffening prick from its confines. The night air did nothing to dull the ache in his cock; indeed, it seemed to become even harder. Groaning, he took it in his hand, rubbing his fingertips against the glans to moisten it with the bit of saliva he'd gleaned from the other man's mouth.

"Weasel," he said, his voice no more than a breathy moan. Ron stared up at him in apparent disinterest, his eyes blank, strangely mimicking the look that had always driven Draco mad.

"Idiot," he said with an angry growl, pumping his cock with savage strokes. "Why did you let me kill you?"

His grip on his cock was punishing. He imagined it was Ron's hand, just a little too tight, just a little too rough. Draco's other hand grabbed his balls, and he squeezed them till he gasped out loud from the pain.

"Ron," he said, begging with that one word for something only the dead man had ever been - would ever be - able to give him.

His balls tightened with his impending climax. His strokes became more ferocious, pleasure and pain coalescing between his balls and his glans. He came with a shout, pointing his cock at Ron as he shot and splashing the badge with his semen.

He leaned forward to kiss his dead lover one last time, tasting the salty moisture of his own tears on the other man's lips, which were now noticeably cooler than before. Taking Ron's hand in his, he worked his ring from the other man's finger and pocketed it.

His legs shook as he got to his feet. Looking up, he noticed that The Burrow was burning nicely now. Someone would notice soon, by the time the wards fell at the latest, and the area would be crawling with Aurors. He cast a quick _Morsmordre_ , shivering for a moment at the sight of the sickly green Dark Mark floating in the sky, and Apparated away just as the wards fell.

It was early in the morning when he returned to the Manor. He entered his bath and tossed his soiled robes on the floor, commanding the house-elf who answered his summons to dispose of them. He showered quickly and entered the bedroom.

His accomplice was waiting for him. He took the hand she held out to him and pulled her trembling body into his arms. The Weasley family's own murderess wept for them as Draco stroked her red hair ( _so like his, but finer, less coarse_ ) and stared blankly at the Dark Mark that marred the freckled skin of her arm. Later they made love, and she cried again when he gave her the ring.

Ginevra wasn't Ron, he thought, blocking out the voice that screamed in the back of his mind, but she'd do.


End file.
